


Wolves and WebMD

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Caring Peter, Caring Peter Hale, Common Cold, Coughing, Fluff, Good Peter, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sick Character, Sick Chris Argent, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Sickfic, Sneezing, WebMD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:36:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7142996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a battle with some changelings Stiles and Chris are pushed into a lake and wind up getting themselves sick, leaving Peter to take care of them. Too bad Peters never had a cold before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolves and WebMD

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Wilkołaki i WebMD](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892904) by [winchesters_soulmate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesters_soulmate/pseuds/winchesters_soulmate)



Peter glowered at the empty bed before him. When he left for the store there had been two, sickly, writhing humans lying in it. Now they had both mysteriously vanished. Well, maybe not mysteriously, and maybe not vanished. Stiles tell-tale trail of tissue papers led from the bedroom, down the hallway, to the library. He could smell the pungent odor of fever and sore throats leaving behind a nasty trail. He followed the odoriferous aroma to where he suspected his human was hiding. His suspicions were confirmed by a loud, violent sneeze from the library door. 

He found Stiles with a book on his lap, a pencil in his hands, and his laptop close by. Scattered all around him were numerous tissues and paper towels. The box of tissues lay empty and discarded underneath his chair. Stiles sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. His eyes were struggling to stay open as he ran over the pages of the old, musty book. His clear brown eyes had turned wet and red with the cold that afflicted him and Christopher. His normally pale skin had somehow managed to turn a sickly shade of green. He looked like death, and he smelled like it too. 

Peter cleared his throat, drawing Stiles attention from his reading. The boy looked up and started. He fumbled the book in his hands, which slipped easily through his sweaty palms and landed upside down on the floor by the chair. Stiles started to rattle out a half-assed excuse about the importance of knowledge. Peter didn't wait for him to finish before he grabbed the boy by the color of his sweatshirt and half-dragged, half-carried him back to their bedroom. He deposited Stiles back down onto the bed with a gentle but assertive shove. 

“Where is Chris?” he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. The tricky hunter wouldn't be much harder to find, but he'd rather save himself a trip of wandering through germ laden rooms and hallways if he could. He assumed at least one of his two loves would be responsible while he was at the store; apparently not.

“I don't-” Stiles started to say. His voice rasped when he spoke, like he'd swallowed an entire ball of steel wool. 

“You do know,” Peter interrupted. Stiles shoulders bunched up underneath the werewolves oppressive, accusatory gaze. The boys heartbeat was erratic, but it had been that way all week.

Stiles smile was meak. “In his office?” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Of course he is. Stay here,” he demanded. “I mean it.” Stiles slunk back against the pillows, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Peter nodded approvingly and left in search of Chris. 

The man was indeed in his office, looking just as worn and weary as Stiles. He was pouring over an even older, mustier looking book than the one Stiles had abandoned in their library. Scattered around his desk lay a haphazard mess of paper towels. That was how Peter knew that Chris was sicker than he let on; Chris hated a mess. With the exception, of course, of his love life. The man sniffled and wiped his red nose on a paper towel. Peter stood in the doorway while Chris pretended not to see him. 

“We have to do something about the changelings, Peter,” Chris said once he realized the were would not be moving. His words were stifled by the congestion that came with being ill. He looked back at the wolf, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion. 

“No, Scott and Derek have to do something about the changelings. You and Stiles already did something, and got yourselves sick in the process. You two need to rest.” He tapped his foot. “Don't make me drag you, Chris.” Chris sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. At least the pair no longer smelled like lake water, although their clothes would forever be muddled. Surprise, surprise, three days after falling in both humans were confined to their bed with sniffles, sneezes, wheezes, and whimpers. At least, Peter had tried confining them to their bed. They were each stubborn, willful spirits, and it made moments like these excessively tedious. 

Reluctantly Chris put his book down. “Fine. But tomorrow-” 

“Tomorrow, the day after, and the day _after_ that you will rest until you are better,” Peter said in a no-nonsense tone. He was beginning to feel like a parent. “Or I'll tie you both down and make you rest.” 

Chris lips turned up into a weak smile. “Stiles would like it,” he said. The preverse joke was ruined by another congested sniffling that grated on Peters ears. 

Peter took the hunters hand, which was colder than ice, and pulled him back towards their bedroom. He was pleased to see that Stiles had obeyed his order and settled himself down underneath the covers. The boy lifted his head and scooted over for Chris to join him. 

“Honestly,” Peter chastised. “I can't go to the store for more than ten minutes without both of you running yourselves ragged? How do you stay alive without me?” He would have been more annoyed if they didn't look so pathetic. Stiles nuzzled up to Chris side and mumbled some sort of half apology that he obviously didn't feel. Chris didn't even bother coming up with a lie. He lifted his arm and allowed Stiles to worm up to his body.

Peter was grateful not to be human. He couldn't stand the wheezing breathes, running noses, cold chills, fever, any of it. He absolutely hated knowing that there was nothing he could do to make them better, either. Draining their pain only stopped them from being uncomfortable, not from sneezing their guts out all over the expensive bedding.

“Technically, we were both still sitting.” Stiles pointed out. “Did you get-” 

“Yes. I brought you your sugary sports drink.” He picked up the grocery bag he'd neglected by the foot of the bed and pulled out a blue drink with a colorful label. Stiles beamed at him and sat up. He took the drink and unscrewed the cap, swallowing down a few mouthfuls. 

“I brought these too,” he said, shaking out the rest of the contents onto the bed. Several containers of pills, liquids, gel capsules, and some cold compresses fell out. Chris gave him the same look the checkout girl had when he'd tried purchasing all of it. 

“I don't think we'll need all of that,” the hunter said skeptically. Stiles leaned over Chris and rifled through the contents until he found a bottle he liked. He popped two pills and swallowed them down with his drink. 

“You _sound_ like you need all of it,” Peter defended, feeling a little self-conscious. He'd never been sick, and no one in his family had ever been either. All he had was some website called WebMD to go by, and if that was even half accurate than Stiles and Chris were both suffering from severe pneumonia. Chris assured him that wasn't the case. He was still feeling doubtful that the two humans weren't dying, but he supposed this was one instance where he could trust the hunters judgment more than his own. Stiles didn't seem to care what he had, so long as he got to stay home from school for a few days. 

Chris lips tugged into a half smile. “I think we'll be alright.”

“Isn't Premsym for girls?” Stiles asked, picking up another bottle. 

“I don't know,” Peter snapped. He pulled the bottle out of Stiles cold fingers and pushed him back down onto the bed. “Just shut up and get some sleep.” 

Stiles pouted. “Sleep with me. With us. It would make me feel better.”

“And let you sneeze all over me? I don't think so,” he scoffed. He loved them, but there were limits to how much _gunk_ he was willing to tolerate. 

Stiles said nothing. He only pushed out his lips in a sorrowful pout. His wide brown eyes taking on the look of a neglected puppy, all alone at the pound. Beside him Chris looked up imploringly. 

“Peter, please?” The hunter asked, bundling the blanket tight around his shoulders. “Stiles is shaking like a leaf.” Stiles started to shake. He hadn't been shaking up until Chris said something, now he was curling in on himself like a dying animal. The boy let out a few soft whimpers. Peters resolve started to soften. He knew he was being manipulated, but he didn't care. 

“Will you stay in bed if I do?” he asked.

Stiles nodded vigorously, and winced as he agitated his own headache. “Yes,” he whined. “Please, Peter? You're so warm.” 

Well, he'd never been known for resisting temptation, no matter how bad for him it was. He wiped the medicines off the bed and set them carefully on the end table. The grin returned to Stiles face, and Chris wore a smug look of self satisfaction. The two moved over for him to join. Peter tucked his arms underneath Chris' and felt Stiles shuffle a little closer to press himself against the hunters back. 

Peter closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sniffling and snuffling of the two devious humans in bed with him. He had a feeling it was going to be a very, very long week.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I wrote this because I am horribly sick, and haven't been able to do much of anything for the past 2-3 days T.T


End file.
